


Day of the Black Doves

by detectivejigsaw



Series: Flipside AU [10]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Beware, Don't say I didn't warn you, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Physical and Psychological, The boys get really really hurt, flipside AU, new villains, trigger warning: torture, will add more tags when i think of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 16,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivejigsaw/pseuds/detectivejigsaw
Summary: Without Bill Cipher's influence being able to spread, the unique town of Gravity Falls has unfortunately opened itself up to attacks from other sources of evil.Dark, dark forces with cruel purposes in mind, and a disturbing delight in spreading pain...In other news, Stan and Ford go on a vampire hunt that doesn't go the way they expected.  For a number of reasons.
Relationships: Ford Pines & Stan Pines, Ford Pines & Stan Pines & "Manly" Dan Corduroy
Series: Flipside AU [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587223
Comments: 382
Kudos: 180





	1. Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death

_...Maybe I ought to get some sleep. _

Ford finally came to this decision after he was no longer able to read his book because he had banged his nose collapsing face-first onto it.

He sat up with a small groan, prodding gingerly at his sore proboscis and blinking his stinging eyes. Out of curiosity he glanced at the clock-and winced when he saw it was almost four in the morning.

_ Stanley is not going to be happy with me. _

Quickly he put the book back on the shelf, in the same spot it had been the last time Stan saw it, and headed for the stairs after flicking off the lights. Plenty of moonlight flitted in through the windows, allowing him to see well enough to at least avoid tripping. He took his shoes off before he started climbing the stairs, tiptoeing in his stocking feet because if Stan caught him he was going to get another earful on not taking care of himself, and possibly get his coffee privileges revoked (again). Which was  _ extremely _ unfair as far as Ford was concerned, because it was  _ his _ coffee,  _ he  _ was the one who paid for it, so when and how much of it he drank ought to be  _ his _ decision-

As he crept past Stan’s room, he heard his brother moaning and stirring.

* * *

Stan didn’t seem to know that Ford knew that he was having a lot of nightmares lately, even though they seemed to be increasing in frequency as time went on, and almost every night for the last week Stan had come downstairs looking as exhausted as he was when he went to bed. Ford occasionally wondered if he should bring it up, and how; he didn’t want to overstep his boundaries, even though arguably it would be fair play for how Stan kept taking his coffee, but despite his brother’s reservations about visiting a therapist it seemed like the trauma of spending five years homeless had taken more of a toll on him than he thought, and he was getting worried.

Ford stood frozen outside his brother’s door, torn by indecision. It seemed like tonight was an especially bad one; he couldn’t tell what Stan was muttering, but it sounded very unhappy.

At last, when his brother made an especially-disturbed sound, Ford decided enough was enough and went in.

The sound of the door opening was enough to penetrate Stan’s dreams; he sat up with a gasp, hands beginning to clench into fists ready for combat-until he squinted at Ford through the darkness, and appeared to recognize him.

“Wha-wha’s happening?” His voice was gravelly with sleepiness.

Ford came to the edge of the bed, looking down at him in concern. “You were having a nightmare. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Stan shook himself, clearly trying to play it off.

“...Never better.”

Ford didn’t believe him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

His twin shrugged, but resigned himself to admitting, “Don’t remember much. Mostly just being surrounded by darkness, hearing a buncha voices yelling at me.”

“What kind of voices?” That didn’t sound like a normal nightmare to Ford; he wished he had his journal with him, because his weirdness sense had started tingling like mad.

“Just whispers.” Stan rubbed his cheek with the heel of his hand, yawning.

Ford sat down on the end of the bed. “Is this the same nightmare you’ve been having for the last week?”

Stan looked away a little guiltily. “...Maybe.”

“And you haven’t told me sooner, why? This sounds like it could be something supernatural! You could be a target for a sinister being who’s haunting your dreams or something!”

_ Please don’t let it be Bill, please don’t let it be Bill. _

“Wasn’t sure if it was a big deal. Nightmares are kinda a normal thing for me, I didn’t think these were any different.”

“Stan…”

Stan held up a hand to stop him. “But, from the sound of things, these are not normal, and I should’ve told you about ‘em sooner, because you want me to take care of myself too.” He gave Ford a half-smile. “Did I cover everything you were about ta say?”

“...No, I was also going to say that you’re a stubborn knucklehead.” Despite himself, Ford smiled back at him.

“Says you,” Stan grunted, leaning back. Then his eyes glanced at the clock...and narrowed.

_ Oops. _

“You’ve been up all night again, haven’t you?! Dang it, Stanford, speaking of taking care of yourself-!”


	2. A-hunting we will go

The nightmare didn’t come back after Ford checked on him, but Stan was still exhausted when he finally woke up. When he looked at the clock, to his surprise he saw that it was almost eleven in the morning.

Startled, he scrambled out of bed and into his clothes, cringing at the possibility that he’d missed out on a chance to catch the new group of tourists that had probably rolled in and hoping he could catch them before they left.

There was no sign of Ford. Stan figured he was probably just in the basement doing research...until he rushed outside and saw that the golf cart was gone.

Oh. That most likely meant Ford had taken over touring duties, and let him sleep in.

He couldn’t help smiling a little goofily as he went back inside.

By the time Ford got home, Stan had a plate of sandwiches waiting for him, and he was now parked in front of the TV watching one of the mindless channels that constantly plagued Gravity Falls.

“How’d it go?” he asked as Ford carried in the chest, getting up to help bring it to the basement.

“Okay. Actually, better than okay.” Ford’s eyes were bright with the excitement of something new and interesting to study. “Stanley, I wonder if you’ve noticed that occasionally we have pale-skinned people in long black hoodies showing up as part of our tour groups?”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Stan helped carry the chest down the somewhat treacherous steps, and wished for the hundredth time that Ford would put in a stinking elevator already. “I figured they were just some of Jeff’s punks looking for offerings ta give their queen or whatever.”

“No, they’re too well-groomed to be gnomes in disguise.” They got started on sorting the profits into currency and samples (the latter further divided into familiar and unfamiliar samples). “My guess is that they’re actually...vampires!”

There was a moment of silence, in which he was clearly hoping for Stan to have some kind of dramatic reaction. Instead, confused, he asked, “...Aren’t they supposed to be not able ta go out in the sunlight?”

“Maybe that’s why they always wear hoodies. Or maybe vampire lore as we know it is inaccurate, or there are certain strains of vampires who can handle sunlight. The possibilities are endless, Stanley!” Ford grinned in delight. “And I want to go look for them and find out which ones are true.”

Stan gave him a look, eyes narrowed. “Did you forget already what happened when you tried ta learn more about the fire salamander colony?”

* * *

**_Flashback flashback flashback flashback_ **

“RUN FOR IT!”

Stan and Ford frantically sprinted out of the grove they’d been visiting, barely outrunning the angry flames being hurled at them by the pursuing mob. Their leader, notable for the deer skull he was wearing on top of his head and the giant fire spear he wielded, shook his fist at them and hissed something that was either a long stream of obscenities, or “And don’t come back!” Or probably both.

**_End of flashback end of flashback end of flashback end of flashback_**

* * *

“I’m still waitin’ for all my back hair ta regrow from that little expedition.”

Ford winced in disgust. “Ugh, I did you a favor then. But I’m not planning to ask them for skin samples this time. If at all possible, I want to avoid being seen by them at all until we can determine whether or not they’re friendly and/or amenable to answering my questions.”

“...So you’re plannin’ ta go spy on some shmoes you think are vampires.”

“Yes. I overheard the one on the tour today mention to another tourist that they have a place a mile or so into the woods, in an abandoned church. If the stories about vampires and holy places are real, perhaps the fact that it’s been abandoned for so long has made it safe for them to inhabit or something.”

Stan sighed. It did sound like a fun adventure, but…

“Then we’d better take this, just in case.”

He went over to his private cupboard and opened it, digging around.

“I was gonna save this and give it ta you for our birthday, but it sounds like you’re gonna need it sooner than that.”

Ford’s eyes widened when Stan turned to reveal what he’d been hiding.

“Where on earth did you find a _crossbow_?!”

“I traded some stuff for it from an owl lady.” Stan hefted the weapon onto his shoulder. “It’s made of a few kinds of special wood, and came with bolts made o’ rowan and silver and stuff.” He offered it, somewhat bashfully.

Ford accepted the crossbow, checking it over with interest. “ _Very_ nice. Thank you!”

Stan grinned, pleased that he’d made Ford happy with his gift. Maybe it was a little pathetic of him, but he loved it whenever that happened.

“We should bring other supplies too, just in case.” Ford pulled out paper and pencil, and began making a list. “Things that are common to vampire lore...I think these will do for wooden stakes, if it comes down to it and they turn out to be hostile-” he absentmindedly patted the crossbow- “but it seems prudent to bring some garlic bulbs, and probably some crucifixes too-do you think those work for people who weren’t raised in the Catholic or Christian faiths? Is it a matter of faith or-”

His words trailed off into thoughtful mumbling.

Stan just waited patiently for him to finish; he was itching to get this hunt started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even among other strange people, Ford's social skills still need work.


	3. "Won't you walk into my parlor?" said the spider to the fly

They ended up filling their pockets with garlic, a couple of vials of holy water (acquired by Stan by totally legal means; honest) and a sack of rice each, because Ford had read about some types of vampires who, if they saw rice or salt or something like that spilled, would be compelled to stop and count every single grain. They also each wore a crucifix around their neck, and, just to be safe, a Star of David. And, in case they ran into non-vampiric threats, Stan brought his switchblades and his gun.

They locked up the house, leaving a note for Dan under the doormat, and then began hiking towards the old church.

* * *

Ford liked the comfortable weight of the crossbow in his arms; he kept aiming it at different possible targets as they walked, to the point where Stan had to occasionally pull him in certain directions so he wouldn’t trip over branches or smack into trees because he wasn't watching where he was going.

He’d always had a bit of a weakness for long-distance weapons, especially when he was younger and didn’t have the same upper body strength as his twin. Besides, it was a way of getting the upper hand on your enemy, which had really appealed to his young nerdy self (not that he wasn't still a nerd). He’d actually carried around a slingshot for a few years, until he and Stan were forced into boxing lessons and he’d gained a little experience in hand-to-hand. He still preferred having a little distance between himself and his foes, though, and had often considered getting himself a gun. But he had to admit, a crossbow was a lot cooler.

“If they are vampires, they’re either very subtle about eating, or do their feeding elsewhere,” Ford mused aloud. “I haven’t seen anything on the news about people being bitten, or any reports of exsanguination-” as oblivious as the inhabitants of Gravity Falls were about the local weirdness, he doubted they would be  _ that _ oblivious- “so if they are feeding on the townsfolk it’s not to the point of killing anyone. Or perhaps they’re feeding exclusively on animal blood, or stealing from blood banks.”

“Would you want ta be a vampire if you got the chance?” Stan asked, idly playing with his switchblade as he walked; he tossed it up and down, flipped it, opened and shut it with one hand.

Ford considered the question. “Would you?”

“H_ll no.” Stan snorted. “Turn into an overgrown leech and never get a chance ta go out in the sunlight again, while everyone I loved grew old and died? No thanks. I’d rather be a werewolf.”

“...You do have a better suited personality.”

“Ha ha.” Stan flipped the knife again. “And you didn’t answer the question.”

“...I suppose, if I were an inch away from death or something and it was my only option for survival.”

“But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You wouldn’t survive. That’s why they’re called the undead.”

“Yes, but I would still be here. And hopefully, if I was the right kind of vampire, I could more or less remain myself, and continue my research of the supernatural and all that.”

“Except now you’d be an overgrown leech compelled ta drink the blood of the living.” Stan made a face at the idea.

Ford decided it wasn’t worth arguing about.

* * *

About ten minutes later, they stopped to rest and have lunch in a clearing. Ford made notes in his journal as he munched his sandwich, and just for the heck of it included his and Stan’s debate about the benefits of lycanthropy vs. vampirism. His brother did present valid points, to be sure, and becoming a member of the undead would definitely not be his first choice; but at the same time he could see the potential benefits as long as the concept of damnation was not a thing and you could control your thirst for blood...

He was startled out of his thoughts by Stan saying, “Hey, Poindexter. Check out these weird berries.”

His brother was standing at the edge of the clearing, next to some bushes. He came to investigate, and saw the aforementioned berries. They were bright green, and very uniquely shaped: round at the top, and then shaping into a slightly more angular shape on the ends. The pattern of black splotches decorating them meant that, if you looked at them the right way, they almost resembled tiny green skulls.

“Oh, I know those! Those are Lazarus berries!”

Stan gave him a raised eyebrow.

“That’s what the gnomes call them; apparently eating them makes you fall into a deathlike sleep for about half an hour.”

“...You don’t know that from personal experience, right?”

“No, I saw it happen to Shmebulock Senior. He does it whenever he wants the rest of the gnomes to pay attention to him more, and he’s always fine afterwards. Apparently they give him fake funerals every time, just to humor him.” Ford reached out and picked a few of the berries, shoving them into his pocket.

“ _ Stanford _ .”

“They said that they should be perfectly safe for consumption by other creatures! And I’m going to study them thoroughly first; give me some credit.”

Stan did not look appeased. “Please don’t poison yourself just for the cause of science or I’ll kill you.”

Ford rolled his eyes, and went to gather up his stuff.

* * *

They were almost at the church, when they heard some rustling in the underbrush over to their left.

Quickly they ducked behind a pair of trees, and held their breaths; Ford gripped his crossbow, which was currently armed with an iron shaft, and Stan slipped on his brass knuckles meaningfully.

Despite the laws of irony that usually cover situations like this, when the sounds became progressively louder as whatever it was got closer, what came into their line of sight was not a harmless deer or rabbit, like some of you might have been expecting.

It was one of the darkly clad figures they were looking for.

Under his hood, his skin was as pale as milk, and even his lips were bloodless, in contrast with the dark of his hair and eyes. His feet made almost no sound as he walked, the only noise coming from him was his arms brushing against low-hanging branches. Either he was an  _ extremely _ angsty teenager who was very good at sneaking around, or he wasn’t exactly human.

Ford could feel his heart pounding with excitement, try as he might to calm himself in case the vampire’s hearing was as good as the stories said. He glanced over at Stan with a grin that was eagerly returned, and as soon as their quarry was almost out of sight they began to creep after him.

Sure enough, he led them to the church, which had definitely seen better days; half the roof had fallen in, and it looked like there was moss growing all over the place. The possible vampire made his way to the door...and then called out, just barely loud enough for their ears to pick up,  _ “They’re here.” _

Ford barely had time to process this, and to feel a chill of unease rising up his spine and clenching in his stomach, before a soft, whispery voice spoke from behind them.

_ “Finally. You’ve come to us at lassssst.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I agree with Stan, personally; I'd take being a werewolf over being a vampire any day of the week. At least then you're still technically alive, and just have to deal with a little problem once a month (which, being female, is already a thing for me :P).
> 
> ...Oh, sorry, are you less interested in that than the enormous cliffhanger I left you on?  
> Sheesh, you people are always so impatient.


	4. “There’s no set in-stone way to be a vampire, especially with the evil ones.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I meant to go to bed early tonight. I really did.  
> But I got involved in watching "Milo Murphy's Law," and then I finally got inspired for how I wanted this chapter to turn out, and things just...happened.  
> I admit it, I have a problem.

It was  _ never _ a good thing when people started a sentence like that.

It didn’t help that it came from right behind them, where they hadn’t been expecting it, even though in retrospect it should have been ridiculously obvious that this whole set-up of following that guy here was a trap which they had walked right into.

It definitely didn’t help that there were  _ three _ vampires standing there when Stan whirled around, all dressed in black, all pale and angsty looking, all staring at them with eyes that were far too bright with interest.

Stan bristled, digging his hand into his pocket for some of the garlic-trying not to feel like an idiot for it, reminding himself that this  _ was _ an actual weapon when it came to these people-

He felt Ford’s hand on his arm, a gentle squeeze that was probably telling him to take it easy.

“You were expecting us?” his brother asked, voice calm.

_ “Yessss,” _ the one at the front of the group hissed. Stan was guessing he was their spokesman or something.  _ “We have been waiting for you, Sssstanley and Sssstanford Pinessss. We have been waiting for ssssso long.” _

_ “Yessss, ssssso long,” _ the one on the left echoed;  _ “Ssssso long,” _ the right one said almost, but not quite, in tandem.

Stan’s heart froze. He  _ knew _ those voices, and the way they spoke over each other in creepy, echoey whispers. He’d been hearing them in his sleep for weeks, along with dark, disjointed memories…

He glanced at Ford; his brother didn’t seem to have noticed his sudden anxiety. Instead, he was tucking his crossbow under his arm-but thankfully he was at least looking wary.

“What do you want with us?”

_ “Oh, we aren’t interesssssted in  _ you _ , Sssstanford,” _ the leader whispered, barely bothering to look at him.  _ “We wanted your brother, but we knew he probably wouldn’t come here unlesssss you did too.” _

And Stan decided that enough was enough. He pulled out a few garlic bulbs, which he hurled at the creatures-

-and they went right through them.

No, literally-it was like something out of a sci-fi movie. Their bodies sort of...flickered, as the garlic passed through them and hit the ground with three soft thuds.

The- _ things _ looked at each other, then back at them...and then smiled.

It wasn’t their teeth that were creepy; those looked pretty normal, actually-not fang-y at all. It was the way they smiled. Like people who had never smiled before in their lives, and had only seen pictures of other people doing it, and were trying to copy those, except that it just looked all wrong and even kind of off-center.

_ “Oh my goodnessssss,” _ said the leader,  _ “they actually think we’re-” _

_ “Vampiresssss,” _ one of his (her? It was actually kind of hard to tell) buddies finished, before letting out a long stream of  _ “sss-sss-sss” _ sounds that Stan was guessing were laughter. And then they-and their buddy who’d led them there-began to change.

* * *

Their clothes, their skin, their whole  _ bodies _ melted away, turning into...columns of wispy black smoke.

They didn’t have limbs or heads or anything, but the way they moved, and the way Stan could still hear them hissing with laughter, gave them a very definite sentience. And without hesitation, he decided to use the only thing he was carrying that seemed like it might affect them: he grabbed his holy water vial, and tossed the contents at the ones in front of them.

Even if they weren’t affected by its holiness, they were still affected by the liquid; the one who got splashed split down the middle with a screech. It knitted itself together again after a moment, but it had at least pulled back. Stan tried to make a break for it, but its fellows were all suddenly there, blocking his path.

“There’s more where that came from!” Stan snarled, wielding the other vial threateningly; at his side, Ford was doing the same, as the smoke things surrounded them.

“If you aren’t vampires, what are you?!” his twin demanded, sounding personally offended that they weren’t the anomalies he’d thought they were-but at the same time curious, despite their situation.

_ “We have many namessss,”  _ one of the creatures hissed, curling in the air around them and circling like a shark.  _ “Maresssss...alpsssss...notssssnitsssa...perssssonally, I prefer the term black dovesssss…” _

_ “Yessss, black dovessss.” _ All of them were circling now, whispering around and over each other as they curled and tumbled through the air.

_ “Dovesssss…” _

Stan blinked. “Why the heck would anyone call you that?”

_ “...Becaussssse we look like them.” _

“You look like smoke. You look nothin’ like doves.”

_ “If you look at usssss in the right lighting-” _

“The lighting’s got nothing ta do with it. Doves are birds. You don’t even have beaks or anything, you-”

_ “It’sssss an artisssssstic interpretation, okay?!” _

Stan smirked; his talent for riling people up with words had not let him down.

“Alps...I’ve read about those,” Ford muttered. “They were described radically different from this, except for the shapeshifting abilities.”

_ “Humanssss don’t know everything,” _ observed one of the black doves, somewhat peevishly.  _ “But enough about that. We musssst feed.” _

_ “Ssssso hungry,” _ another moaned-before it lunged at Stan.

He thrashed his arm, trying to splash it with more water-but it ducked under the attack, wrapping around his wrist and pulling, forcing him to drop the vial.

Then all of the black doves were around him at once, wrapping around him like snakes, hoisting him up into the air in a quick, almost liquid motion.

And then Stan began to scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, did you expect these to be actual vampires?  
> Whoops. Sorry. Guess I hit all of you with yet another curve ball.


	5. “How nice -- to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive.”

“STANLEY!”

Ford began frantically digging through his backpack, trying to find anything that might rescue his brother from those-those-he couldn’t think of a suitable enough insult for them, he was panicking so much.

_Maybe if I had a big enough leaf blower, or electric fan…_

It was becoming progressively harder to think when Stan was still screaming.

It was made even scarier by the fact that he could not see what they were doing to his brother to hurt him; the so-called black doves just kept swarming around him, making noises that sounded a little like...slurping, almost.

They might not be vampires, but they were definitely feeding on his brother in some way.

Finally, Ford pulled out something that seemed like it might help: a grappling hook.

Just as he straightened up, however, planning to shoot it up into the branches of a close-by tree and swing over-the screaming abruptly stopped.

His heart skipped a horrified beat.

A few seconds later, though, Stan was dropped unceremoniously to the ground with a thump, and the black doves hovered over him, trembling and making little waves in the air.

 _“Whoo-hoo-hooo!”_ one hissed, swaying and looking, for a cloud of smoke, unusually dizzy. _“What a_ rushhhh _!”_

_“Tell me about it-did you get a tassssste of that fear? "_

_"What about all that anguissssssh? Ssssssso ssssspicccccccy!"_

_"I liked the desssspair! Whoo! I haven’t had sssssstuff that ssssstrong sssssinccccce 1913!”_

_“I told you you shhhhhhould’ve toured Europe with usssss during the 40’sssssss, but noooo, you wanted to come_ here _and check out the Wessssst!”_

Ford stopped paying attention to their arguing; he’d already raced over to his brother, and was frantically checking him over.

Stan was alive, but he looked like the manotaur they’d found once who thought it was a good idea to have a wrestling match with a gremloblin. He’d turned as white as the black doves’ other forms had been, and his eyes stared blank and unseeing at the sky above him. His limbs were twitching the tiniest bit, like he’d just been given a strong electric shock, and Ford could hear his breath coming in tiny, panicked gasps. There wasn’t a mark on him.

“Stan?!” Ford called, hesitating before putting his hands on his shoulder and shaking him a tiny bit. “Stanley! Stan, can you hear me?”

No reply; just more whimpers and twitching.

“What did you do to him?!” Ford yelled at the black doves, lurching to his feet.

 _“Don’t fret your weird human head,”_ one of them replied dryly, _“he’ll wake up ssssssooner or later. We don’t want to drain sssssuccccch a lovely meal jusssst yet.”_

_“Ssssso lovely.”_

_“Not yet...”_

_“Yessss, ssssso delectable...”_ The black doves tumbled through the air in ecstasy.

Ford snarled, tightening his grip on his brother before starting to gather him into his arms in what he knew would probably be a futile attempt at escape, but he was kind of out of options when the people he wanted to fight were this insubstantial.

Sure enough, they swooped down around them again, lifting both of them into the air this time.

 _“None of that, pleassssse,”_ one of them purred. _“We will put you ssssssomewhere ssssssafe for a while…”_

* * *

They brought them into the church building, where there turned out to be a substantial hole in the floorboards. Without preamble they swooped down inside, bringing their captives with them.

It was like the world’s most terrifying roller coaster, because everything was pitch black, and it barely felt like Ford was being supported at all, and a primal terror rose in his chest at the way he was swooped and tumbled through the air, feeling every second like he was moments away from falling to his death.

Eventually he could tell that they’d been brought into what felt like a smaller cavern of some kind, where he was dropped onto the floor, and a thud next to him told him his brother was there as well.

 _“Sssssee you later!”_ one of the black doves whispered right in Ford’s ear, before, with more gleeful hissing, they went drifting away in the darkness.

For a moment all Ford could do was sit there, straining his eyes against the darkness and forcing his thoughts to calm themselves as he tried to come up with a way out of here. To do that, of course, some exploring would be necessary to figure out what kind of place they were in-as well as perhaps figuring out a way to fight off the black doves so they couldn’t just bring them back again. It would help if they also had some light…

Stan was still occasionally whimpering and gasping.

Ford grimaced; looking for escape routes would have to wait until his brother woke up. He wasn’t comfortable leaving him alone in this state, and if he wandered off into the darkness, he didn’t know if he’d be able to find him again.

He groped around until he found Stan’s arm; then, on an impulse, he pulled off his trenchcoat, laying it over him in a clumsy imitation of a blanket.

“It’s okay, Stanley. They’re gone now, you’re-” He realized that he could not reasonably refer to either of them as ‘safe’ or ‘okay.’ “Well, I’m here with you, anyway. For what it’s worth.”

He kept his hand on Stan’s shoulder, finding the contact soothing for him, and hoping it would be soothing for his brother too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Well, you people wanted some idea of what was happening to Stan. It's not the full story, but it's a start.  
> That's good, right?
> 
> *Rethinks that sentence*  
> Well, not good, per se, but at least you're not in the dark now. The boys are instead.  
> Geez I'm horrible to them sometimes.


	6. Persistence of memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential trigger warning, just to be safe: the beginning of this chapter contains a brief reference to attempted suicide. It's very, very brief, but still.
> 
> Oh, and there's also a couple of mentions of being tortured.
> 
> Also, EEEEEEEEE, orange-octopi actually made fanart of part of this chapter on tumblr: https://detectivejigsawpines.tumblr.com/post/615974656121470976/orangeoctopi7-a-comic-based-on  
> I'm so utterly ecstatic about this!!!!  
> ...As you might have noticed.

_“WHY DO YOU HAVE TO TAKE AWAY EVERY GOOD THING-”_

_Dangling by his ankles while the big man dug the meat hook into his gut-_

_The thud of his body smacking into the sidewalk and a duffel bag being hurled into his lap-_

_Watching the boat burn to ashes-_

_Being pulled up, gasping and choking, and being asked where the money was, before being held under the water again-_

_Dragging that broken bottle top across his arm, watching the deep red lines rising up-_

Stan blinked, and everything faded away into darkness.

“Stanley?”

Voice; that was his brother’s voice, he recognized it. A warm hand was holding his shoulder, rubbing a soothing circle into it with a thumb. There was something big and warm covering Stan; he wiggled his arm out from under it, fumbled around until he found the hand, and slowly counted the fingers.

He sighed with relief; there were six.

Then he asked the question he was dreading.

“Ford? Why am I blind?”

If there was one thing Stan had become almost as afraid of as he was of heights, it was complete darkness. Being in darkness meant people were trying to kill you; it meant you were trying to hide from people who were trying to kill you; opening your eyes to it possibly meant you were already dead and this was going to be your eternity.

Stan could already feel his chest growing tight with terror at just the thought that somehow those things had-

“Those creatures brought us down into an underground cave and left us here; I can’t see anything either.”

Okay. So he technically wasn’t blind.

Somehow this only helped to stave off the chill of fear a little bit.

As if sensing what he was feeling, Ford’s hand wrapped around his and squeezed.

Stan took a deep breath, and then forced himself to sit up, maneuvering around until he was sitting at Ford’s side, shoulders pressed tightly together, backs against what he realized was the cave wall, with what he also realized was his twin’s trenchcoat draped over their legs.

“You okay?” he murmured.

Ford let out a sarcastic laugh. “Aside from how I’ve been chastising myself over and over for coming here without gathering more data and then walking right into a trap? Yeah, I’m good.”

Stan nudged him. “Even you don’t know everything all the time.”

Ford didn’t seem all that comforted; he scoffed and didn’t answer.

With his other hand, Stan suddenly patted his pants pocket, wondering if-

He grinned into the darkness.

“I have good news, Poindexter. I still got my lighter.”

“Really?!”

Stan dug it out, and placed it into his twin’s hand for a moment.

“Course, unless we can get stuff ta make a fire, it won’t last long as a light source, but it’s a start right?” It took all his self control not to immediately use it and get rid of the blackness.

“It would help if we had our packs...I have a few flammable substances that would work,” Ford mused. “Or, of course, we would have our flashlights, which would be even better under the current circumstances.”

Stan returned the lighter to his pocket, gave it a pat of satisfaction.

For a few minutes they sat in silence. At last, though, Ford coughed.

“Stanley?”

Something about his tone of voice told Stan he wasn’t going to like the next question. He grunted anyway.

“If I’m allowed to ask...what happened when the black doves...attacked you?”

Stan went stock still.

“I just want to help. If I can.”

He couldn’t, not that Stan knew of. But at last he whispered, “...It was basically reliving my memories. The bad ones. Every terrible thing that’s ever happened ta me, and it was like I was right back in them again.”

“G_d…” Ford whispered. He didn’t even know the half of what being homeless had been like for Stan, but he still sounded horrified.

“Yeah.”

Ford took his hand again, lacing their fingers together securely. Stan gripped back tightly, not caring if it was manly or whatever.

“From what they were saying, it seems that these creatures feed on negative emotions. At least one of them particularly enjoys the taste of despair.”

“Sound like the triangle’s kinda people,” Stan muttered.

“Heh. Perhaps we can combat that somehow, by forcing ourselves to remember just our happy memories as a sort of shield against them.”

“Sure, Ford. And while we’re thinkin’ happy thoughts, we can also click our heels and say ‘There’s no place like home,’ and that’ll help us escape,” Stan muttered.

“You’re mixing up the stories, Stanley.” But there was no real scolding in his voice. “I’m just thinking out loud about possible options.”

“...I dunno if it’ll work,” Stan admitted. “Cuz when they were all swarming me like that...I couldn’t think. I just-everything else got driven away but what they were draggin’ ta the surface. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t think about thinkin’ happy thoughts, or anything except what I was relivin’.”

“...Well at least keep it in mind for when they come back.”

Neither of them had any doubt that they would come back.

* * *

After another long silence, Stan said, “They’re the ones who’ve been givin’ me nightmares, too.”

“That makes sense. The lore on mares and alps talks about them being responsible for giving people nightmares, usually by sitting on their chest while they sleep. And it explains why you’re always so tired in the mornings. They’ve been feeding on you for a while now.”

“Just what I always wanted: ta be monster food.”

Ford snorted. But before he could answer, there was a soft whispering, hissing noise from over to their right, which came progressively closer and closer.

The black doves were back.

_“Sssssso, you’re awake,”_ one said, slithering around Stan’s shoulders and sending chills down his spine; it was even more horrifying than it would have been if he could have seen it.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” he muttered, rolling his eyes a little and pretending that his hand wasn’t suddenly clutching Ford’s in an almost bone-breaking grip. “Geez you guys get hungry quick, I’m surprised last time wasn’t enough to keep you full longer.”

 _“You’ve been down here for hourssss,”_ another pointed out from over their heads. _“And we want more of your lovely, lovely pain.”_

 _“Been ssssso long ssssssinccccce we had any that good,”_ whispered the first one, right against Stan’s ear.

 _“From one persssssson,”_ a third dove moaned.

_“We need more.”_

And then, once again, they pounced, covering Stan in their slithery, whispery bodies, gulping eagerly.

Stan tried thinking happy thoughts.

It didn’t work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I did warn you things were going to get unpleasant.


	7. Hell is empty, and all the devils are here

The feeding process lasted longer this time, but the screaming didn’t last half as long. Ford tried ineffectively to pull Stan away from the black doves, or push them off; when that didn’t work, he held onto his brother’s hand as best he could, hoping that he’d somehow be able to feel it through the horrors being inflicted on him.

When they finally seemed sated and let him go, Stan dropped bonelessly onto Ford, moaning and trembling. He pulled him into his arms, murmuring soft reassurances in his ear and trying to get through the haze of terror that had taken over his twin.

To his surprise, even though the feeding went on for longer, Stan recovered sooner than he had last time. Only about an hour passed before he went still and quiet, and one sweaty hand gently clamped around one of the arms wrapped around him, squeezing a little.

“S-S-Sixer?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Ford allowed him to sit up. “...May I have your lighter? I’m going to take a look around.” There seemed no point waiting for actual fuel; at the rate the creatures got hungry, they were going to drain his brother dry if they didn’t get away.

“...Sure.” Stan’s voice sounded even hoarser than usual. There was a fumbling sound, and then a light touch on Ford’s shoulder that moved down to his hand, allowing Stan to deposit the lighter into it.

The first flickers of flame burned Ford’s eyes, and he had to look away with a hiss of pain. It took him a few minutes before they adjusted enough to the light that he could actually use it to look around.

It wasn’t a lot, but it allowed him to at least check Stan over. And his heart sank when he saw that his face was blotchy, and his eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and he was wrapping his arms around his shoulders and trying not to tremble.

Ford squeezed Stan’s shoulder, not sure whether it would be better to respect his brother’s obvious desire not to advertise that he was having a small breakdown or try to offer comfort; Stan trembled, clearly trying to hold in the pain. Ford guessed that he was also embarrassed about being seen like this.

“Stanley. I-”

_What?_

_Are you about to promise that you’ll get out of here somehow?_

_Tell him it’s okay to be afraid and in pain, when they’ll probably feed off that too when they come back?_

Helplessness was an unpleasant companion to have when you didn’t know what you were going to do next.

At last, Ford just leaned his forehead against Stan’s for a moment, before turning and holding the lighter out to get a better look at what was in front of them.

* * *

Serendipitously, there were a few old branches lying on the cave floor; it took some effort, but Ford managed to create a small fire that wouldn’t last long if they couldn’t create more fuel, but at least expanded the amount of light in the room so they wouldn’t have to use up the lighter fluid quite so soon. He hefted one branch as a makeshift torch, allowing him to see that the cave was about the size of their living room back home. There were more branches dumped in a corner; he had the feeling someone had once been here for a hiking trip or something, but it hadn’t been for years. There were a few stalactites and stalagmites here and there, but they had stopped growing ages ago, because there was no water dripping (unfortunate, that, since he was starting to get thirsty). At the end farthest from them was the entrance; Ford went over to it and peered out.

A dark tunnel stretched out in front of them, going around a corner and disappearing.

Ford glanced back at Stan, and saw to his relief that he was up, and tending to the fire by adding a branch from the pile; it seemed safe to leave him unattended for a moment. Ford stepped into the tunnel, and peered around the corner.

More of the tunnel loomed ahead. Ford wondered if this had been built by the miners who used to be the primary residents of Gravity Falls. There were no minecart tracks down here, but maybe they built this as an old-fashioned break room or something.

An amusing mental image swam into his head of a group of miners sitting around their cave drinking coffee, getting their lunches out of a mini-fridge, complaining about their jobs and so forth; he smiled a little despite their circumstances.

Then, thinking Stan might not want to be left alone for too long down here, he hurried back to his brother.

Sure enough, Stan looked relieved when he saw him.

“We are very far underground,” Ford announced, putting the branch back into the fire just in time to prevent it from burning his hand.

“Wow, ya figure that out all by yourself?” Stan gave him a look that pretended to be shocked.

“I need to gather more data.” He warmed his hands. “Preferably before our friends get hungry again.”

“I’m all for that.” Stan picked up another long branch and tore off part of his coat, wrapping it around the end and dipping it into the fire. “What’re we waitin’ for?”

* * *

Together they moved into the tunnel.

Ford’s ears seemed to pick up every little noise; every tiny pebble his shoes sent rolling, every time Stan exhaled, every time his heartbeat pounded in his ears. He tried to move them as quickly as possible without making excessive noise, unsure if the black doves were lurking around the corner waiting for them, unsure what he’d do if they were.

“So,” Stan murmured abruptly, as if guessing his thoughts, “what do your studies say about how ta deal with nightmare-making monsters?”

Ford pursed his lips. “Well, traditionally they were dealt with using salt and iron and magic crystals, things like that.”

“So basically, things that we don’t have.”

“...Yes.” They turned another corner; this tunnel had a tendency to twist and turn in weird places, explaining part of why it had felt so much like a roller coaster to be brought down here. “And I’m not sure how effective they are against these creatures, since they are able to render themselves insubstantial at will.”

“Maybe we need a really big dreamcatcher.”

Ford snorted. Then he frowned in thought. Hypothetically, that _could_ be a possibility...after all, dreamcatchers were created for the sole purpose of trapping nightmares…

Again, though, he needed further data before he could draw any definite conclusions.

A few minutes later, the tunnel opened up into a full-out cavern.

The two men stared around with interest; all around them were large, deformed-looking pillars of some kind. Here and there chips of rock had broken off, allowing Ford to see that there was something that looked like amber inside.

_If we manage to get rid of the black doves somehow, I’ll have to come down here to examine this place further. This is interesting._

_...If we can get out of here today, that is._

They crept around the pillars, keeping their eyes open for anything that might resemble a cloud of black smoke besides the one being created by the end of the torch, more importantly looking for an exit.

“They brought us down here from above,” Ford whispered, “so there has to be an opening in the ceiling somewhere that will lead us up to the church. We just need to figure out where that is.”

And then, because sometimes the laws of irony are consistent in stories like this, a slithery voice whispered from behind them, _“We might have known that you wouldn’t ssssstay put.”_

* * *

Within moments they were being encircled by black doves, hissing their sibilant words to each other.

_“Sssssomething’ssssss wrong…”_

_“The tassssste didn’t lasssst assssss long assssss before…”_

_“He sssshhhouldn’t even be able to ssssstand sssssso sssssssoon…”_

_“We took the sssssame amount, what elssssse issssss there to take?”_

_“Maybe if we feed longer-”_

“No!”

Ford pushed Stan behind him. “He’s had enough. You can feed on my pain, just leave him alone.”

“Ford!” Stan’s whisper of protest went unheeded, of course.

The creatures scoffed in disgust.

_“Not good enough…”_

_“Not the sssssame…”_

_“Paper cutssss and coffee headachesssss? People ssssssaying exxxxxtra fingersssss are weird?”_

_“What doesssss that compare to nearly dying a hundred timesssss over?”_

“Hey! I’ve nearly died too! And just because many of Stan’s experiences were far worse than mine doesn’t mean mine weren’t difficult to deal with!”

Ford grimaced at the ridiculousness of arguing with these people over whether his own pain was flavorful enough to be worth eating.

And then the black doves swirled around him, trying to latch on to Stan again. Ford’s stomach _lurched_.

“No!”

Without thinking about it he grabbed onto his brother, pulling him back and swiping the torch at them, despite how ineffective that might be. He just knew that he couldn’t stand to watch Stanley fall into terrified catatonia again. “Leave him alone!”

Somehow, without having actual facial expressions, they managed to look surprised.

_“Whoa...did you feel that?”_

_“Fear…”_

_“Worry…”_

_“Anger…”_

The black doves circled Ford curiously, occasionally darting forward questing tendrils that jabbed at him.

_“Sssssso fressssshhhh…”_

_“And there’sssss more where that came from…”_

_“Ssssso, Ssssstanford-”_

It took him a moment to realize that he was being directly addressed-

_“Our bringing pain to your brother caussssesssss pain to you?”_

He gulped, struggled for an answer.

Again, they had no faces, but in the torchlight something about the clouds of smoke suddenly took on an air of predatory pleasure.

Ford barely had time to react before they were swarming both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...That could've gone better.  
> Not by much, admittedly, but it still could've.


	8. Interlude

Dan wasn’t worried when he went to the gift shop in the forest to see if the Pineses needed his help, and found out that there had been no tours that day; it wasn’t like they came every day, just whenever they realized that tourists were in the neighborhood.

He wasn’t even worried when he found the note to him about their going on a vampire hunt; he just rolled his eyes and made a mental note to chew them out when they came back for going adventuring without inviting him, and went off to the latest logging site.

He still wasn’t worried when he checked the cabin the next day, and there was still no sign of his friends; the ‘quest’ (he was pretty sure that’s the term Ford would use for it, because he was a tremendous dork) was taking longer than they’d expected. They were probably going to be exhausted and starving when they came back, though; he made a mental note to make sure both of them ate something, and that he’d most likely have to fulfill that deal he’d made with Stan that the latter would pay him a hundred bucks for every time he had to help pin Ford down and force him to get some freakin’ sleep.

Dan was maybe beginning to get worried when he checked the cabin the day after that, and it was still frighteningly vacant. He told himself that he was being dumb, and that for all their faults the Pineses were manly enough to handle themselves in a fight, and there was no need to freak out.

They’d be home any minute now, he just had to wait and see.

...Any minute now…

* * *

Despite himself, Dan had a hard time sleeping that night; images kept flooding his brain of Stan or Ford lying limply on the ground, pale and vacant-eyed, with two puncture marks in their neck-or maybe standing, but with lengthened canine teeth and soulless smiles, having lost their humanity and replaced it with a desire to prey on the living…

Sometimes Dan worried that he’d spent too much time watching horror movies as a teenager. But try as he might to tell himself he was overreacting, his brain refused to relax.

Finally, when the next morning dawned and there was still no sign of them, Dan decided that silly or not, overreacting or not, he wasn’t gonna wait around anymore.

So he sharpened his axe until it could practically cut up sunbeams, shoved a rosary in his pocket just in case, and set off into the forest to find out if any of the inhabitants knew where the Pineses had gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes a lumberjack's gotta do what a lumberjack's gotta do.


	9. Things get worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: blood and trauma. Not necessarily in that order.

Stan had thought the pain he went through the first time the black doves fed on him was the worst he’d ever felt.

Clearly, though, the universe just _loved_ proving him wrong about stuff like that, because now he was not only screaming as they coiled around him, slurping and purring to each other about what a rush feeding on him was-he was being forced to listen to his brother screaming as they fed on _his_ pain too, and there was nothing he could do about it, and he _knew_ there was nothing he could do about it. And it made his previous agony feel like a paper cut by comparison.

The memories being dragged forward were all about Ford, too- _the time he’d accidentally made him cry when they were eleven by calling him an egghead after he’d had an especially bad day of being bullied; the project-oh_ g_d _, the project, and the hurt and anger in Ford’s eyes at losing the chance to go to the college of a lifetime; every time he’d called, and hung up without speaking because he was too ashamed and afraid of being rejected again; watching Bill stab him in the shoulder because he’d leaped in the way to protect Stan’s own worthless carcass, knowing they were both trapped down here in the first place because these freaks wanted_ him _-_

When he opened his eyes again, he was lying sprawled on the cavern floor, and the torch had gone out, so everything was dark again.

Stan pulled himself up onto his hands and knees frantically.

“Ford!”

No reply.

“FORD!”

It took all Stan’s willpower to calm himself, and slow his panicked breathing so he could hear better. After a minute of listening, he caught the sound of ragged gasping over to his right, and sighed with relief.

“Stanford, I’m comin’ ta find you, just hold on for a sec.” He fished around in his pockets, and found to his relief that the lighter was still there. Clutching it in his hand, he groped around for the torch.

He couldn’t find it anywhere close by, so at last he gave up and crawled towards the sound of his brother’s frightened whimpers. And then, just in case, he flicked the lighter and checked to make sure it was really him.

Ford was curled up on his side, hugging himself and shivering. His glasses were askew on his face, eyes wide open and vacant and tear-stained in the firelight.

Stan wondered if he looked like that after every time he got fed on; the thought made his stomach lurch.

He closed the lighter, since he wasn’t sure how much fluid it had left, and maneuvered by feel, lifting his brother and turning him until his back was flush against his chest, before wrapping his arms around him. The action was met without protest, but Ford slumped bonelessly, head drooping in a way that would have made him worried that his brother was dead if he hadn’t been able to feel him breathing.

“Ford, if you can hear me, try ta breathe with me, okay? I wanna see if this helps ya snap out of it sooner-we can think of it as an experiment, if ya want.”

There was no reply, so Stan just started breathing, long and slow and deep. He hoped that even if his brother couldn’t hear him, he might be able to feel the action and try to follow along.

* * *

_Click_

_Click_

_Click_

_Click_

_BOOM_

* * *

Ford suddenly gasped, and jerked, trembling like he’d just dived into the ocean in the middle of winter.

“Stanford? Ya with me now?” Stan gently squeezed him around the ribs.

Ford’s hand wrapped around his wrist for a moment-and then he twisted around and clung on to Stan, burying his face in his shoulder.

“...Wanna talk about it?” Stan asked quietly after a minute.

“No. Absolutely not.” Ford seemed oblivious to the way his glasses were poking into the side of his neck, and he didn’t have the heart to complain.

“Okay. That’s fine.” He cupped the back of his head, massaging through the curls.

“...How do you handle that?” Ford whispered. “How do you keep going through that, over and over, and just come back from it when they’re gone?”

“Believe it or not, it’s nothing I haven’t gone through before.” Stan rethought his statement. “I mean, it wasn’t exactly like this, but y’know-being miserable. It’s something you can get used to after a while.”

He rethought it again.

“...That’s a bad thing, isn’t it?”

“If we get out of here, I’m taking you to a therapist. By physical force if necessary.” It was a relief to hear his brother finally sounding like himself, even if his voice was still trembling a little.

“Where are we gonna find one who won’t just pack me off to a looney bin? ‘It’s like this, doc: my nerdy bro here is worried about me cuz I had an easier time bein’ tortured by pain-sucking monsters than he did, cuz I was homeless for five years and I guess I got kinda desensitized to reliving my pain over and over.’”

Ford let out a sound somewhere between a snort and a harrumph. “Well, if I can find one, then will you consider it?”

“Only if you come too. Cuz you’re gettin’ traumatized by this too.”

He sighed reluctantly. “Fair enough.”

They actually managed to catch a few hours of sleep before the next time they heard the familiar hiss of the black doves returning. When they did, Stan called up, “Wait a minute! Before ya start suckin’ on us-” he grimaced and tried to blot out all the gross mental images that sprang to mind- “I got a few complaints!”

The hisses above them sounded amused...but also puzzled. He capitalized on it.

“If we’re bein’ kept here as your food sources or whatever, you gotta feed us too, or we’re not gonna last much longer. And we need water, and our stuff, so we can make a fire. If we’re gonna be livestock, we needa be well taken care of livestock.”

There was a stunned pause from their captors. Finally, one of them was right by his ear, creating a chill against his shoulder.

 _“And what makesssss you think you can negotttttiiiiiate with usssss?”_ the voice purred. _“Being sssssstarved and cold improvesssssss your flavor; why ssssshhhhould we give that up?”_

 _“What will you do if we don’t conccccccede to your demandsssss?”_ another whispered right in front of his face.

Stan could feel goosebumps rising on his skin, but he shrugged in an attitude of indifference. “Then we die, and you can’t hurt us anymore. Your free meal ticket’s all gone. But hey, if you guys are so greedy that you wanna use us all up too soon, what do I care? It’s no skin off _my_ nose.”

He heard Ford’s breath hitch a little, and felt another tremor run through his system.

After a moment, the cold sensations were no longer surrounding him, and he heard quiet whispering from above their heads.

At last, one of the black doves whispered, _“Fair enough. Wait here, little livessssstock.”_ They departed in a chorus of snickering.

“Hopefully we can both think better after we’ve had something ta eat,” Stan whispered to Ford. “Maybe you didn’t notice, since I gotta shove food down your throat to get ya to remember it, but we’ve been down here a long time. I’m starving.”

“Heh.” But the faint cheer he’d managed to provide his brother with earlier had faded a little.

Sure enough, the black doves brought them their packs, which thankfully had some food and water that was still good. However, they did feed on them a little more before handing them over, which was a dirty trick, but Stan couldn’t say he was surprised.

It was worth it to finally get some water and a few bites of food; it wasn’t the first time Stan had gone a long time without eating, but he’d grown somewhat used to regular meals recently, and his stomach had been cramping in protest.

“How long do ya think we’ve been down here?” he asked Ford as he finished building a small fire.

Ford shrugged. “Probably not a full week yet, but still long enough that we wouldn’t have lasted much longer without water. Thank you.”

Of course, once his pack was there he’d sought solace in his journal, where he was rapidly scribbling down everything that had happened to them.

“No problem.”

* * *

And Stan made the fatal mistake of thinking that things were more or less okay now.

They had fire, food, water, Ford’s journal-things were still less than ideal, they were still prisoners, but maybe now they could figure out an escape plan better.

He should have seen the signs of the universe about to give him the finger for what they were.

The next time the black doves came back, they circled around them, asking, _“Feeling better now?”_

“Yup.” Stan glared at them defiantly.

 _“Good, good.”_ One of them curled around Stan’s feet, and then snaked its way up to his shoulder. _“Becaussssse we have disssssscovered a ssssssmall problem with our ssssssyssssstem.”_

 _“Ssssssmall?”_ Another demanded, coiling in the air above Ford’s head. _“It’ssssss disssssassssstroussssss!”_

 _“Horrible!”_ whined another, slinking in and out of the flames.

“Are you gonna tell us about it while we’re still young?” Stan demanded. He was probably getting them into hot water, he knew, but he really got sick of it when people beat around the bush in a fake attempt to disguise how they were planning to hurt you. Granted, a few times in the past that had given him the time he needed to escape, but it was still so _annoying_.

_“To put it frankly, you keep losssssing flavor.”_

_“We get hungry for more too quickly.”_

_“You need to be in fresssshhh pain to make it lassssst longer.”_

Stan really, _really_ didn’t like the way this was going.

_“Ssssso, we came up with a brilliant idea for improving your tassssste again.”_

A long black coil was dropped at Stan’s feet.

He gave it an uncomprehending stare.

“Um...I don’t even know how ta respond ta this.”

 _“Pick it up, Ssssstanley,”_ the black doves hissed in chorus.

Just to be ornery, he looked at it for an extra-long second before doing so. It turned out to be...a whip. He had the oddest feeling like it could be something used by an action hero to fight Nazis or something.

_“We need you to usssse thissss on your brother.”_

The whip was instantly dropped from his fingers.

“You must be outta your d_mn minds!”

Ford’s mouth had dropped open in an owlish expression of shock, with fear beginning to creep in.

 _“We wouldn’t joke about thisssss,”_ a black dove insisted. _“It will create ssssssucccchhh deliccccciousssss fressssshhhh pain, you don’t undersssssstand how muccccchhhh we need it! Jusssssst a few sssssstrokessss-”_

“No!” Stan’s hands shook with rage that rose to mask his sudden terror; he wished more than ever that these things had a form he could punch into the ground, because this was the absolute last straw, he was just pulling back his leg to kick the whip into the fire-

_“WE WILL SSSSSSTRIP THE SSSSSSSKIN FROM HISSSSSS BACK IF YOU DON’T.”_

All four of the black doves spoke in unison, in a way that made it clear they meant every word of it.

Stan’s gut clenched, and he gave Ford a horrified glance.

_I don’t want to do this._

Ford looked just as sweaty and terrified as he was...but at last he gave a small, insistent nod.

Stan tried to shake his head; Ford just nodded more firmly, despite looking like he was about to faint.

Then he was being swarmed by three doves, forcing him towards the middle of the cavern, pulling him to his knees with his back to Stan. With trembling hands Stan knelt and picked up the whip, which felt cold and leathery in his hand, before approaching, and moving about six feet away from his brother. He tried to lift his arm, faltered.

 _“Do it,”_ the fourth dove hissed in his ear. _“Thissss pain you're already feeling isssss delicccccioussss, but do it! Do it now!”_

There had to be a way out of this...but nothing was coming to Stan’s mind. Nothing except maybe trying to talk his way out of this, coming up with some kind of clever scheme, or even a moment of _deus ex machina_ would be nice right about now-

 _“You have five ssssssecondssssss before we sssssstart flaying!”_ The dove at his shoulder curled a coil of smoke into his line of vision; it shifted, until it looked like a set of long, curved claws.

_“One.”_

_“Two,”_ whispered another from Ford’s side; it created some claws too, which reflected in the firelight.

_“Three-”_

**_Crack!_ **

Stan had never used a whip before in his life, but he managed to catch Ford on the right shoulder. His back arched, and even from where he stood Stan heard a muffled gasp of pain that he tried his best to hold in.

 _“Yesssss!”_ the doves cheered.

_“Yessss, more! More!”_

Stan’s eyes were so blurry that he could barely see, even as he lifted the whip again, lashed it.

**_Crack!_ **

That one hit in the middle, tearing open a more visible gap in Ford’s shirt; instantly crimson began to leak through it.

Stan tried to lower his arm, but the dove lifted it again, forcing him to make another lashing motion, then another.

**_Crack! Crack!_ **

That time Ford was unable to suppress a small cry of pain, before doubling over, probably biting down on his lower lip. Stan wanted to call out to him that it was okay, he could scream if he wanted, he was sorry for doing this to him, but his throat was clogged up and he couldn’t make the words come.

**_Crack!_ **

The edge of the whip actually coiled around Ford’s ribs for a moment before Stan yanked it away. The floor behind and around his twin was becoming rapidly splattered with red.

He only managed to lift the whip one more time, making the tip land on Ford’s leg, before his hand refused to hold it another second; he threw it to the ground, and then collapsed to his knees, retching and gagging.

This time he barely noticed the jubilant black doves swarming around him and Ford, sucking and gulping and chittering to each other before at last they vanished, happily gorged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eheheheh...  
> I really did warn you.
> 
> I'm just gonna go hide now, wait for some of you to calm down.  
> And probably put away the sharpened sticks/other weapons of choice.


	10. Blood, sweat, tears and other fluids

It felt like Ford’s back was on fire.

He lay sprawled face-first on the ground, after the black doves finally let him fall, forcing himself not to faint, even when he felt them drinking his pain.

_In-2-3-4, out-2-3-4, in-2-3-4, out-2-3-4…_

_Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium, boron, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen…_

Ford heard the black doves laughing above him, and then the whispering sounds of their flying away. And then he and his brother were alone.

Ford forced himself to sit up, and turn around slowly, gritting his teeth against the fresh stinging.

Stanley was still kneeling where he’d fallen, head slumped towards the ground and hands clenched into fists. He seemed to sense Ford’s eyes on him, because he finally looked up; his bloodshot eyes widened in alarm.

“Don’t-don’t move! Just-stay there, I’ll get bandages and stuff!” He stumbled to his feet and rushed to their packs, ripping one open and rummaging around.

“Stanley-”

“Just shut up a minute, lemme get ya fixed up!” Soon enough he was back at Ford’s side, medical supplies in hand, and gingerly parting the fabric of his torn shirt.

He let out a pained hiss when he got a good look, and his voice hitched. “I-I’m sorry, I never-I didn’t want to-”

“Stanley, it-”

“We needa take care o’ those, or they’re gonna get infected. You needa take your shirt off, sorry Six-Stanford-”

“STANLEY.”

The nervous babbling stopped. Ford turned until he was able to face his brother, and reached out, taking his face in both hands (it felt a little weird to be doing that, but he needed to make sure he was paying strict attention).

“Listen to me. This was not your fault. Okay? It was those monsters’ fault for threatening my safety to force your compliance, and theirs alone. Whatever bad thoughts you’re having about yourself right now, stop it.”

Stan’s lip trembled...before he gave Ford a cunning stare.

“Only if ya stop beatin’ yourself up for us bein’ here.”

Ford made a disgruntled face, despite knowing that Stan was (probably) right. “...I’ll try.”

“Good.” Stan pulled away, then paused uncertainly. “...Do you need help?”

Ford gave him an annoyed look. “I’m not an invalid, it’s just a little stinging. Crampelter’s done a lot worse to me.”

_But I haven’t._

Stan didn’t say the words, probably due to Ford’s admonition, but they both heard them hanging unspoken between them.

Ford just began unbuttoning his shirt. Once that was done, he tried to shrug out of the sleeves-and almost blacked out from the pain.

With a sigh, Stan helped him with the rest of the process, giving him a scolding glare before he could try to argue again about being able to do it himself.

“Sorry, but we don’t have any clean water except what we’ve been drinkin’ and some holy stuff,” Stan said softly. “I could maybe try ta boil it? Do you wanna use yours, so you’d just be gettin’ your own spit in the cuts? Maybe it wouldn’t infect you as bad-”

“Just put on a lot of disinfectant afterwards.” Ford sat cross-legged, clenching his hands on his knees with his back to the fire.

The process of having his lashes washed out and cleaned stung, but he tried to be stoic about it, even managing to meditate a little despite the pain. Until he heard Stan say, “We gotta get out of here.”

He’d just started bandaging the stripe on Ford’s shoulder; he could feel his brother’s hands trembling as he worked.

“Yeah, I know-”

“No, Stanford. We gotta get outta here very _soon_ , cuz this is just gonna get worse.” Stan swallowed. “You’ve noticed the pattern, right?”

“How they keep escalating the levels of pain they put us through?”

“Yeah.” Stan kept bandaging. “It’s...I don’t think they’re doin’ it just to feed on our pain. I think it’s more like they’re junkies tryna get a fix. I’ve seen guys like that before; a small hit’s good enough ta satisfy ‘em for a while, but then it stops bein’ enough and they need a bigger amount ta be high enough ta keep themselves happy. Pretty sure if we stay here much longer...they’re just gonna come up with more creative ways ta make us keep hurtin’ each other.”

Even with his back to him, Ford was sure they shivered in unison; they both had very good imaginations which were currently being more of a hindrance than an asset. And, he reflected with a shudder, there were many things you could become desensitized to if you went through them enough.

“That’s not going to be easy, since every time we leave a spot they inevitably find us.”

“Ya think they can track our emotions or somethin’ like that?”

“Very possible.”

Stan took his shirt, and began washing the bloodstains out with what appeared to be his own water bottle, before laying it in front of the fire to dry off. Ford stared into the flames, and tried to think.

* * *

“...Well, I’ve heard there’s a group of vampires over in Washington, but there haven’t been any around here for a while.” The manticelf (not quite as annoying as the leprecorn, but still raised disturbing mental images if one tried to wonder how such a beast had come to be) scratched his pointed ear with the tip of his scorpion tail and gave the lumberjack an apologetic shrug.

“They’re supposed ta be real pale, and wear black hoodies,” Dan insisted, remembering what he’d overheard from Ford talking to himself about his research.

When he heard that, the manticelf’s expression changed; his golden eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open.

“Oh. You mean _them_.”

Dan could already feel his blood pressure going up in a way that wasn’t healthy, even for someone as young as he was.

“What? Who are they?”

“They’re...not vampires.” The manticelf backed up, a trickle of sweat running down the side of his face. “They-heh, we try to stay away from them, they’re-they’re pain-eaters.”

“Huh?”

He waved his furry hands in frustration. “Your kind usually calls them nightmares, or alps, or a bunch of other silly names. And they like to call themselves, oh, _blackbirds_ or something. We just call them pain-eaters.

Normally they come to people while they’re sleeping, and give them a few bad dreams so they can feed on the fear this creates. Maybe not the kindest method of getting food, but not something that’ll hurt anyone. But these ones...they’ve gone a little funny in the head or something, they’ve been going after people in the middle of the day and making them feel _real_ pain, over and over until they just shrivel up-”

The manticelf broke off with a frightened squeak when the axe blade buried itself into the tree behind him, right next to his head. His tail rose in defense, but Dan caught it just under the stinger and squeezed.

“You’re gonna tell me _where_ these things are, and anything that might help me know how ta deal with ‘em. **NOW**.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this will pacify those of you who are still somewhat upset with me.


	11. Desperate times, desperate measures, smacking these idiots will be Dan's pleasure

The doves had left them alone for quite a while now; Stan got a somewhat-amusing mental image of them just lying on the floor in another part of the tunnels being fascinated by watching the way their smoke flowed, or whatever they were like when they were on a trip. While they did that, however, he and Ford made an inventory of their supplies and resumed looking for an escape.

Sad to say, most of what they’d brought was for potentially fighting vampires; ergo, not all that useful at the moment. Except for the holy water they had left, which would stave off dying of thirst for a little longer (they’d grown up Jewish, okay? Give them a break), and maybe the stakes (Ford had some idea that maybe they could use them for climbing if they could find a surface soft enough to push them in yet solid enough to hold them). Unfortunately the black doves had not brought down Ford’s crossbow, but on the bright side, the grappling hook that Stan had inexplicably found in their house was still in his pack. So when Ford’s shirt had dried off and Stan had helped him put it back on, they grabbed their supplies, including their flashlights, and went back to wandering.

Stan in particular was frantic for them to find the way out as soon as possible; he knew what people with addictions were like, so he knew that they didn’t have any time to waste.

But even if they did find the exit to this cave and get out...what then? The black doves would probably be able to track them down with very little trouble. Their only hope, as best Stan could see it, was to get far enough into the woods that he could cash in on some favors he was owed from various groups and factions that lived there, find out if there was  _ anyone _ who knew how to deal with these things.

_ Probably our best bet’s gonna be the gnomes...even if it means dealing with that twerp Jeff. Hope he’s not still mad about the incident with the honey jar. _

In his defense, Jeff and his group had been  _ really _ annoying that day, and that jar was just the right size to cram him in until he agreed to call them off and never try to raid the gift shop again. Either way, gnomes wandered into just about every corner of the forest, so if anyone was gonna have information on black doves, it was them.

Every time he saw Ford wince when his pack settled wrong on his shoulders or thumped against his back, his stomach twisted.

He knew that technically, the lashes there were not his fault...but he’d still put them there. And if they couldn’t get out of here, then how long would it be before doing that became second nature to him?

Before it would be normal to beat Ford, or break his bones, or-

Stan clenched his teeth and shook his head.

They were getting out of here  _ today _ , no matter what it took.

* * *

Eventually they stumbled across something that wasn’t a natural part of the cave: a set of tracks.

Not like footprints; like railroad tracks, except smaller.

Ford, of course, immediately recognized them for what they were.

“These are mining cart tracks!” he exclaimed. “I was right, this  _ was _ a system used by miners! That means there’s gotta be an exit somewhere. If we follow these, we can probably find it.”

“Hopefully it hasn’t been blocked up or something,” Stan felt obligated to point out just in case.

Ford just hurried down the tracks, and Stan followed.

As they made their way through the tunnels, Stan noticed that there were more of those weird giant stalagmites everywhere; not only that, there were all kinds of weird plants he’d never seen before, although they did look kinda familiar somehow. If they managed to get rid of the black doves somehow, he and Ford were  _ definitely _ coming back here for a more thorough exploration.

Then he looked up, and frowned.

“Hey, Poindexter-is it just me, or is there a light up ahead?”

Ford looked in the same direction, and flicked his flashlight off.

Sure enough, the faint glow up ahead was still there.

They moved towards it, spirits inadvertently lightening over seeing their first natural light in-how long had they been here? Stan didn’t even know.

It turned out to be another cavern...with a big hole in the ceiling. And actual, honest to goodness  _ sunlight _ was pouring through it-not a whole lot, but enough that they didn’t need their flashlights. Enough that to two people who’d spent so long deprived of it, they were in heaven.

They were just about to rush out into the middle of the cavern and probably try to use the grappling hook to get the heck out of here-when Stan flung his arm out, forcing Ford to run into it.

Before Ford could protest, he pointed urgently.

“Look!” he whispered.

Circling around the hole in the roof was a black dove.

It coiled and looped-the-loop in little circles, making pleased little hissing sounds that were probably its equivalent of humming, adding in the occasional swan dive towards the ground before swooping up again.

“Might’ve known there’d be a sentry,” Stan muttered, clenching his jaw in frustration.

It figured. It just figured that when they thought they finally had a chance to escape, whoever was running things around here would put another obstacle in their path to make their lives more difficult.

Quickly they moved out of view (and hopefully out of the sensory range of the creature).

“...We could try looking for another exit?” Ford suggested. “There has to be one somewhere-another tunnel, or something. It’s gonna be okay-” he sounded like he was trying to reassure himself just as much as Stan, unfortunately- “we can handle this, we just need to-what the-!”

A small blue light had appeared above them, just for a second; before it vanished, something white fell through it, smacking Ford right on the head.

Ford fumbled, managing to catch the object before it hit the ground. Stan shined his light on it, and saw that it was, of all things, a scroll of paper.

The two men looked at each other in confusion...and then Ford unrolled it and adjusted his glasses so he could get a better look. Stan peered over his shoulder.

* * *

_ Guys- _

_ I found out where you are, and what you’re dealing with, and I’m coming to get you. _

_ The fairy I found only had enough magic to let me send this message, or I’d be there already, but I had to make do with sending this and hoping you’d be alive to read it, and I got directions for where to find you and I have some stuff that can help, so you should be out of there soon. If you’re not alive when I find you, the pain-eaters are gonna wish they’d never been born. Though they’re probably gonna feel like that anyway, heh heh. Okay, you can stop dictating now. Seriously, stop, they don’t need to see this part, seriously cut it out- _

_ -Dan _

* * *

Stan hoped he hadn't turned into too much of a grinning idiot.

Dan was coming.

Of course, this probably meant there were gonna hear a lot of “damsels in distress” jokes for at least a month, but it would be worth it if it meant that they weren’t gonna be stuck in here.

He grinned at Ford.

To his surprise, instead of looking jubilant, Ford was frowning thoughtfully at the paper.

“...Don’t you get it, Poindexter? We’re gonna get outta here! Dan’s coming!”

Ford nodded.

“Yeah, I know. I just can’t help thinking...most of the fairies I know of don’t stray away from their territory much, which is about twenty minutes away from here.”

“That’s really not that long,” Stan pointed out.

“No, it’s not. But from my calculations, there is a very high probability that the black doves will be coming to find us soon for a fresh meal.”

Stan felt a cold chill rise all over.

“And as you’ve pointed out,” Ford said with an equally nervous swallow, “their torture methods escalate every time. I don’t know about you, but I would prefer to be in as undamaged a state as possible when Dan comes for us with whatever is required to fight these creatures.”

“...So what’s the genius plan?” Stan whispered.

“Well, the best way to deprive them of being able to force us to inflict pain on each other,” he lifted his coat, and reached into one of the pockets, “seems to be to render ourselves incapable of feeling anything at all.”

It only took Stan a second to realize the genius plan.

“No.  _ No _ . No, no, no, no, NO!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh deary, deary me, I wonder what Ford's plan could possibly be? 😈


	12. The knight in shining armor is definitely not gonna use true love's kiss today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also known as, the chapter where Dan develops an ulcer and probably starts getting his first gray hairs before he's even reached his nineteenth birthday.

The manticelf had tried to hold out at first, until Dan made it clear to him that as scary as the pain-eaters apparently were, they were not here right now, while the lumberjack _was_.

After he sang like a canary, Dan thanked him for his cooperation and went to get the supplies he needed. This may or may not have involved breaking in to the Pineses’ house, but he made sure not to damage it too much. Once he had what he needed, he went to the nearest fairy population and found one who was friendly enough to help him send them a quick note to let them know he was coming, and then set off for the abandoned church.

* * *

By the time he got there, it was high noon.

Dan strode into the building, still with his axe, but with several other interesting items in his pack: a giant thermos, three metal hoops decorated with unicorn hair, beads and feathers, a med kit, a flashlight, and several coils of rope.

He marched to the hole in the floor, peering inside-and was startled by the freakiest, most unearthly shrieking he’d ever heard emanating from below.

_“WHERE ARE THEY?!”_

_“They can’t have essssscaped; I wasssssss at the entranccccce for hourssssss, they haven’t come near it! I would have ssssssensssssed them!”_

_“Well they’re obviousssssssly not_ here _!”_

_“Don’t be ssssssstupid, they have to be down here ssssssssomewhere! Ssssssspread out and find them!”_

_“Find them!”_

_“Find them!”_

And the voices went echoing off somewhere.

Gingerly, Dan took out the rope, making a tight knot against a sturdy pillar before rappelling down.

Black doves, he remembered from what he’d been told, were almost totally blind in their natural forms, and even when shapeshifted into other forms their sight wasn’t that great. Instead of relying on sight, they stalked their prey by sensing their emotions, kind of like thermosensing or whatever it was called. This meant, unfortunately, that there was no way he was gonna be able to stay down here without them sooner or later sensing his presence. But if he was gonna save his friends, he didn’t have much choice in the matter. Especially since the fact that the pain-eaters were somehow unable to sense them at all was giving him a bad feeling about this…

Dan’s boots eventually hit the ground. He let go of the rope, and whipped out his flashlight, shining it around curiously.

_Whoa. Looks like there’s a freaky underground jungle down here or somethin’._

Giant mushrooms, ferns, other plants that smelled kinda like battery acid...just more normal Gravity Falls weirdness rearing its head.

Dan saw a few big stone archways nearby, and stepped into one-

And immediately hurried towards the two prone figures lying sprawled side by side on the floor, one flat on his back, the other on his side facing him.

“Guys!”

To his alarm, neither of them moved an inch.

Within a few strides Dan was there, kneeling down in front of the Pineses. “Stan? Ford? You with me?”

No reply. Not even a twitch.

“...Guys, c’mon.”

He shone the flashlight right in their faces.

Their unnaturally pale, shadowy-eyed, lifeless faces.

Dan felt a hollow, sick feeling rising in his chest.

 _No, this can’t-no! This isn’t how it works! I-you guys are supposed to be fine, you’re_ always _fine-_

His vision was starting to actually swim with gray, before he blinked it away, and forced a trembling hand to the side of Ford’s neck.

No pulse, the skin cold and a little clammy.

The same was true with Stan.

No marks on either of them, not even on their necks, but they weren’t breathing, there was no heartbeat-

The lumberjack let out a howl, and slammed his fists into the cave wall.

Dan didn’t care if the pain-eaters came to investigate the noise, or if they could sense him now; after the brief flicker of rage died, he just knelt there, staring in numb grief at his friends as the flashlight, which he’d dropped, rolled across the floor, the beam flickering across their lifeless forms, before coming to a stop.

His eyes couldn’t help following the light, as it came to rest...on Ford’s journal. Which lay open under his outstretched hand, with a long stretch of writing flowing across one of the pages.

For a moment Dan didn’t want to look, because if that was some kind of final farewell letter he didn’t think he’d be able to handle it. Until he saw that his name was at the top.

The lumberjack, with hands he would never admit were trembling, grabbed the journal and the flashlight, pulling both of them closer to him, and squinted down at the writing.

* * *

_Dan-_

_If you’re reading this, we’re probably not dead._

_Stanley just pointed out to me that that’s not very reassuring, but I promise, there is a reasonable explanation._

_Before we were captured by the black doves (that’s what the creatures who have imprisoned us call themselves), I happened to collect a sample of what are known as Lazarus berries…_

**_Flashback flashback flashback flashback_ **

_“Stanford, remember when I told you not to poison yourself for the cause of science? THIS TECHNICALLY QUALIFIES!”_

_“Sssh!” Ford clamped his hand over his brother’s mouth until Stan retaliated by licking it; quickly he wiped it on his pant leg in disgust. “Would you calm down! Gnome physiology and human physiology are similar enough that we should be perfectly-”_

_“This is a_ really _dumb time to do something cuz it’ll_ probably _work!” Stan whisper-screamed at him._

 _“Oh, because you’re always_ such _the soul of caution and never just making things up as you go in the hopes that they’ll work!” Ford hissed back, deciding he’d had enough of this hypocrisy._

 _Stan glared. “Hey, at least when I do it I’m usually just putting_ my _butt on the line, no one else’s!”_

_Ford folded his arms. “If you have a better plan for protecting ourselves from further torture until Dan gets here, I’d love to hear it.”_

_There was a long pause, before Stan angrily swiped one of the (slightly squashed from being in his coat pocket for so long) berries from Ford’s hand._

_“I hate you.”_

_Ford sighed. “I’m just trying to make sure they can’t hurt you again, Stanley. You’ve had more than enough.”_

_Stan made a small, maybe somewhat pacified grunt, and sat down on the floor, dumping his pack next to him; Ford followed suit, taking the time to write a note for Dan in his journal. Once that was done, he lifted his own berry to his mouth._

_“On three. One-”_

_Stan tilted his head back and dumped the Lazarus berry into his mouth, chewing and swallowing in one fluid motion. “If I haveta count I probably won’t be able ta make myself do it.”_

_Ford grumbled, but quickly ate his too._

_“Hey, do you think we needa eat more than one since we’re bigger than gno-”_

**_End of flashback end of flashback end of flashback end of flashback_ **

_...So as long as everything goes well, we should wake up soon after you get here. If we don’t, maybe you just need to find a princess who’ll be willing to kiss us or something, ha ha._

* * *

Dan stared at the note.

He stared at the faint traces of green juice on Ford’s fingers, and on the edge of Stan’s lip.

_If you guys don’t wake up, I’m gonna learn how ta resurrect the dead just so I can bring you back and kill you._

There was suddenly a rush of wind from behind him, and a series of whispery, hissing noises. He turned, snatching up his flashlight, allowing him to see four coils of black smoke-like stuff hovering in the tunnel behind him.

 _“Thisssssss issssss a new one,”_ one whispered, tilting in a way that almost seemed like curiosity.

 _“Not one of ourssssss,”_ another agreed. _“Ssssssomeone totally new.”_

 _“But what a tassssste,”_ a third voice purred, coming closer.

 _“Sssssuccccchhhh grief,”_ the first whispered, following eagerly.

 _“Ssssuccccchhhh anger,”_ they swooped until they were at his eye level.

_“Sssssucccchhh worry and fear-mmmmmm….”_

_“I think he’ssssss worth keeping if we can’t find the othersssss,”_ the fourth agreed.

Dan reached into his pack, pulling out the thermos.

“Okay, freaks,” he growled, “let’s get dangerous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, someone recognize the 90's-era cartoon I reference with the final quote, it's too good not to be recognized.


	13. The best way to deal with nightmares

Something in Dan’s tone of voice drew the creatures up short in their advancing; he took advantage of the opportunity to unzip his backpack, pulling out the thermos. He slowly opened it, and poured a slightly-heated, off-white liquid into the cup. By the time he’d finished doing that, though, the pain-eaters had overcome their surprise and, with angry (or possibly hungry) hisses, lunged at him.

They were less than a foot away when Dan gave a casual flick of his wrist.

Half a cup of warm milk splashed onto the one at the front in a direct hit.

Unlike the holy water, which had just passed through it, the warm milk somehow  _ glomped _ onto the coil of smoke, spreading across it in a fluid motion that gave every law of physics there was the middle finger. And then, as the pain-eater shrieked and writhed with a sound that could probably peel paint off a wall, it began...melting.

Dan really didn’t have a better word for the process; as he watched, the coiled white mess slowly deteriorated into long, stretching, oozing globs, which dripped away and splatted to the ground in a thick, gray muck that reminded him a little bit of the inside of a Kleenex after he had a particularly bad sneeze.

Which is probably way more information than you ever wanted to know about what Dan Corduroy’s sneezes are like, isn’t it? 😈

When he looked up at the remaining pain-eaters, they had all jumped back, wheezing with gasps of horror. They had all been splashed a little bit, not as much as their friend, but enough that they were writhing, trying to rub the milk off on the walls of the cave, on rocks, even on each other in their desperation to escape the pain.

_ “AAAAAAGGGGGHHH! GET IT OFF!” _

_ “It burnsssss! IT BURNSSSSSS!” _

_ “You fiend! You monssssster!” _

Dan snorted. “That’s a rich thing ta call me, comin’ from you little [CENSORED]s.”

And then one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard came from behind him: the sound of someone suddenly drawing in breath.

* * *

Ford woke to the sound of screaming.

He sat up with a gasp, eyes darting around trying to find where it was coming from, if maybe it was one of those weird screaming birds that had migrated here from the swampy part of the forest-

And then cruel memory came flooding back in, allowing him to notice several things at once.

  1. He was still in the tunnel where he’d eaten the Lazarus berry, in more or less the same position he’d fallen.
  2. There was a flashlight lying on its side on the ground, currently turned enough that the beam was illuminating an enormous figure standing in front of him.
  3. The figure, as imposing as it was, was wearing an enormous flannel shirt and suspenders-ergo, probably not one of the black doves.
  4. The figure half turned to reveal that he was Dan, and therefore definitely not one of the black doves, unless their shapeshifting abilities were better than he’d thought.
  5. The doves were the ones screaming; he couldn’t figure out why at the moment, but it appeared that Dan was making good on his promise to deal with them.
  6. Stan wasn’t waking up.



“Stanley? Stanley!”

_ What if it had some kind of adverse side effect on him what if some humans aren’t able to safely ingest Lazarus berries what if I just killed my own brother _

He barely heard a voice triumphantly hissing,  _ “ _ There _ you are!” _ and the slithering, thrumming noise that meant black doves were about to assault him; he was busy grabbing his twin by the shoulders and shaking him, feeling futilely for a pulse that he knew wasn’t there-

Stan’s eyes flew open, and even in the bad lighting Ford was able to see the color rushing back into his face as he gave a ragged inhale.

He barely had time to be relieved before he was distracted by a bright golden flash from behind them, and twisted to see what it was.

Dan was holding a small metal hoop, which had unicorn hair wrapped around it and threaded across it and woven until it looked like a kind of web, and decorated with beads and feathers; Ford turned just in time to see one of the black doves smash into it-and disappear in a golden haze. Then, in a speedy motion that defied his girth, Dan swiped it around to the other two doves, who received the same treatment.

In a matter of seconds they had disappeared, and three shiny new beads had appeared on the web.

“...Well I’ll be d_mned,” Ford croaked after a moment. “You really can defeat them with dream catchers.”

Dan let out a grunt of satisfaction, and flipped it into the air before catching it with his ring and pinky fingers. “Only if it’s woven outta unicorn hair or somethin’ with similar power.”

“Heh.” Stan laughed, and sat up all the way. Then he saw the thermos lying on its side, and the liquid dribbling out of it, and frowned. “Is that...milk?”

“Warm milk and dream catchers. They’re the best defense against pain-eaters. Cocoa powder’s another good one.”

Ford was just as startled that such terrifying creatures could be defeated by something so mundane...but it made an odd amount of sense. Besides, you could do things like repel killbillies just by getting to a convenience store; by comparison, warm milk wasn’t that unusual a method of defense against the anomalies of this town.

Dan bent and picked up the thermos, screwing the lid back on, and returning it to his pack, followed by the dream catcher...before he stood and rounded on the twins, eyes aflame.

“NOW EXPLAIN TO ME WHY YOU IDIOTS  _ EVER _ THOUGHT THIS LITTLE ADVENTURE WAS A GOOD IDEA!”

* * *

“Hey, back off!” Stan snapped back, showing far more bravery than Ford was up to in the face of the lumberjack’s wrath. “We didn’t know they weren’t vampires!”

“And you didn’t think ta ask any of the other monsters livin’ around here if they were?!” Dan demanded, looming even more angrily. “Or even ta ask if there  _ were _ any vampires around here?! They coulda told ya the truth, so you never woulda gotten captured by these freaks! If I hadn’t decided ta come lookin’ for you, you know what they woulda done? They were gonna keep you prisoner until ya’d both  _ withered away _ from them constantly feedin’ on your pain, cuz neither of you had the  _ common sense _ ta get all the facts first!”

Ford shrank in on himself; it was all true. Everything they’d gone through was his fault, because he’d just gone tearing off after a new anomaly without seeing if anyone else might know what it was, and both he and his brother had suffered for it. Just like when he’d summoned Bill without trying to find out more about the inscription-

Dan sighed, and his anger visibly bled away.

“I’m just glad you knuckleheads are both alive.”

“Sorry, Dan,” Ford whispered.

“Yeah. Sorry,” Stan muttered, a little less contritely.

Dan knelt down in front of them, picking up the flashlight and frowning as he checked them over.

“What happened?” His gaze had landed on one of the tears on Ford’s (still pretty bloodstained) shirt.

Ford twisted his shoulder out of view, wincing as the movement tugged his wounds. “It’s a long story.”

“Fine. Either of you needa go ta the hospital?”

“No, I think we both just needa go home,” Stan said for both of them. He gave Ford a questioning look to confirm this, and he nodded his approval.

“Kay.” And without warning Dan reached out and grabbed Stan, hoisting him over his shoulder. A second later Ford received the same treatment, and the rustling he heard seemed to indicate that their packs were being grabbed, before Dan straightened up and marched out towards the main cavern.

“Um-Dan-” Stanley protested, “you really don’t needa do this-we can still walk-and besides, we might be too heavy-”

“Of course you’re not! The right technique for carrying hurt people has been passed down the Corduroy family line for generations-I can handle it! Besides, you guys have barely eaten in four days, you’re both light as feathers!”

Ford was feeling a little too light-headed to argue or feel embarrassed about the loss of dignity; he just closed his eyes and drooped against his friend’s back, letting all the adrenaline from the last few days bleed out of him...


	14. Home again, home again, jiggity-jig

Despite his claims, Stan persuaded Dan to at least not try to climb back up the rope while carrying them, at the risk of throwing his back out. Instead, he set them down and went up first, along with their packs; when he reached the top, Stan tied the end of the rope around Ford in a makeshift harness, then tugged twice and waited for Dan to tow his brother (who had fallen asleep, and was pretty much dead to the world) up. Then the harness was tossed back down, and Stan put it on and got towed up himself. He was more than a little embarrassed about needing to be manhandled like this, but he had to admit that he was probably too weak to climb up by himself.

When they were all safely above ground, Dan heaved Ford back over his shoulder; Stan, however, was strong enough to walk, and insisted on doing so. Dan gave him a warning glare implying that he had given up his right to autonomy when he decided to go on this little adventure, but didn’t try to argue.

To Stan’s relief, the crossbow was still on the ground outside, along with the selection of shafts; he gathered them up, and checked them over. They were still in more or less pristine condition, despite how long they’d been exposed to the elements.

_ Wow. That owl lady really knows her stuff. _

He slung the crossbow onto his back, and they started walking towards home.

The walk was more or less silent, except for their boots crunching on the ground, and the wind blowing through the trees. Stan had a feeling that Dan was waiting for him to start talking about what happened, but he didn’t feel like doing so, so he just focused on keeping one foot in front of the other, and enjoying the sunlight that he’d worried he’d never get a chance to see again. If Dan really wanted to know so badly, he could wait until they were back home and Ford was awake.

The house, with the Stanley Mobile still parked just by the side and the sun casting its light on the side of it as it began to set, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Stan reached over and tapped Ford’s hand eagerly.

“Hey, Sixer! Wake up-we’re home!”

“Wha-!” Ford awoke with a frightened start, and tried immediately to straighten up, before his eyes cleared and he sagged again.

“We made it back,” Stan repeated, wrapping his hand around Ford’s and giving it a small squeeze. “We’re safe now.”

“That’s good,” Ford muttered, “because you really need a shower.”

Stan snorted. “Hey, Mr. Pot, I’m Mr. Kettle, nice ta meet you.”

“Oh hush.”

* * *

The boys took turns using the shower, and soon enough they were all in the kitchen, in clean clothes, rewrapping Ford’s wounds while they told Dan what had happened as he warmed up some soup for them.

When they finished, he sighed and shook his head.

“Ugh...okay, that’s it. Neither o’you are leavin’ this house again without my say-so. I’ll keep the tours goin’, but you two needa stay put.”

“What!” Ford protested, as both he and Stan glared at him, “You can’t do that!”

“Yeah, this is  _ Ford’s _ house, you don’t have the authority ta decide-!”

_ THUNK. _

After a moment of dead silence passed between the three men, Dan pulled his axe out of the tabletop with a quick jerk of his arm. “I’m institutin’ martial law. If you got a problem with that, you gotta take it up with the complaints department.”

Meekly, Stan went back to bandaging the lash mark around Ford’s ribs; to his relief, none of the injuries appeared to be infected or needed stitching, but they were probably going to leave scars. He supposed he ought to just count himself lucky the black doves hadn’t made him use a cat-o-nine-tails.

Dan went to his pack and produced the dream catcher, dropping it on the table next to the giant chunk his axe had taken out of it.

“Here. The pain-eaters are trapped in here, you can study them or whatever if ya want.”

Ford nodded, smiled thinly.

“Thanks, Dan.” Stan finally remembered that neither of them had said it yet.

“We owe you big time,” Ford agreed.

“I’m holdin’ both of you to that,” Dan promised with a grin, before taking the pot of broth off the stove and bringing it over to the table. He stopped when he started to set it down, and the section that he’d chopped made an ominous  _ creak _ .

“Err...maybe we oughta take this ta the living room.”

* * *

The knuckleheads actually tried to sleep in their own rooms that night.

Dan had a feeling that wasn’t going to work, but clearly they wanted to try to reestablish some semblance of normality as soon as possible, so he didn’t say anything.

He just went and got the inflatable air mattress out of the trunk, spreading it out and inflating it in the living room, covering it with spare bedding from the linen closet; next to it he placed his spare bottle of scumble and two large glasses. Then he hung dream catchers from every spare corner of the room, and lit some candles which he placed on the coffee table and in the darkest corners, giving everything a cozy, golden glow.

Then he sat down on the couch and waited.

After about half an hour, he heard the sound of a door opening upstairs, and footsteps padding down the hallway. There was a long, hesitant minute, and the sound of feet starting to pace away, before coming back, before pacing away again, and finally returning with determination, and the sound of soft knocking.

There were some hushed whispers, and then the thumps of feet coming down the stairs; soon enough Stan and Ford were standing in the living room. Stan was actually carrying his pillow on his shoulder, and Ford’s glasses were askew and his hair rumpled in the back, giving them a striking resemblance to Dan’s little brothers.

When they saw him sitting there, they froze, and looked around in slight confusion at the set-up, before their gazes turned back to him sheepishly.

Dan just gave them a long, pointed stare, until they stepped forward and began making themselves comfortable on the mattress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Needless to say, it's a long night for everyone.  
> They ignore the glasses, just passing the bottle of scumble back and forth, but even with its effects neither of the boys sleep well-though at least this time their nightmares are the normal kind, created by a traumatic experience which their brains are trying to protect themselves from happening again by reexamining what happened in somewhat surreal, horrific ways. But whenever they wake up, they can look around the room, at the moonlight trickling in through the windows and the candles strategically placed on the floor, at each other, and at Dan snoring on the couch above them, and reassure themselves that they're both safe, and they're not in that place anymore.
> 
> When they finally wake up and feel up to moving around, since they're under house arrest anyway and have nothing better to do Ford wants to examine the dream catcher and maybe get started building a special trap for the black doves so he can put them in it and study them further...but whenever he tries to make plans for it his hands start shaking, and he's actually on the verge of a panic attack before he decides to just work on something else. So instead he reorganizes his samples and does some inventory, and periodically goes upstairs to quell the rush of fear every time he starts to wonder where Stanley is.  
> Stan, in the meantime, deals with what happened by alternating between watching some mindless cop show, fitfully sleeping, and after a while drawing a few cheesy comics while stretching out on the air mattress. His artistic talent hasn't improved much since he was ten, but it relaxes him and feeling a pencil in his hand is a lot better than the memory of being forced to hold a whip-  
> He shudders and goes back to work, looking up with relief every time Ford comes upstairs.
> 
> As for Dan, he keeps an eagle eye on both of them; in the late afternoon, though, there's a knock at the door. When he opens it, it reveals the entire herd of manotaurs standing there.  
> Dan instantly reaches for his axe; even he has learned that these guys are more than a match for him in a fight, but he'll fight them all to the death if he has to.  
> "What do you want?" he growls.  
> "YOU-DAN CORDUROY?" demands the one at the back, who's the biggest and looks like he has the ability to shoot flames out of his nostrils.  
> "Yeah..." He tightens the grip on the axe handle.  
> And then all the manotaurs at once kneel, bowing their heads in respect.  
> "WE HUMBLY ASK YOU TO TEACH US YOUR MANLY SECRETS, DEFEATER OF THE BLACK DOVES."  
> After a stunned moment...Dan grins, and hoists his axe onto his shoulder.  
> "You guys have come to the right place."


End file.
